Listening to the Wailin’ Jennys this morning…
It’s a long and rugged road
and we don’t now where it’s headed
But we know it’s going to get us where we’re going
And when we find what we’re looking for
we’ll drop these bags and search no more
‘Cuz it’s going to feel like heaven when we’re home
It’s going to feel like heaven when we’re home
(lyrics by Ruth Moody)
At the end of the day…
Don’t ask yourself “did I make a lot of money today?” Ask yourself “did I share my giftedness in a meaningful way?” Don’t ask yourself “did I achieve my goals?” Ask yourself “did I do meaningful work that brought me joy?” Don’t ask yourself “did I get a lot of hits on my website?” Ask yourself “did I offer my heart?” Don’t ask yourself “did I influence a lot of people?” Ask yourself “did I offer comfort or wisdom to at least one person?” Don’t ask yourself “was I successful?” Ask yourself “was I true to my calling?” Don’t ask yourself “did I out-perform the competition?” Ask yourself “did I offer the best work I could do?” Don’t ask yourself “did I expand my network?” Ask yourself “did I make any new friends?” Don’t ask yourself “were people impressed with me?” Ask yourself “was I authentic?” Don’t ask yourself “Did I prove how smart I am?” Ask yourself “am I willing to learn from others?” Don’t ask yourself “did I make a difference in the world?” Ask yourself “did I allow God to make a difference through me?”There are few things that nourish my spirit more than a meditative wander through nature with my camera.
Mindful photography is for me what prayer or meditation is for others – a time to connect with the Creator through the tiniest of details on a leaf or the grandeur of the waves crashing on the coastline.
Unfortunately, in winter, I too often forget to do what I know will nourish me.
Yesterday, I remembered.
(Note: Video includes music from my friend Steve Bell.)
For over a year now, I have been telling myself (and others) that I’m writing another book. (I say “another” because I once wrote a novel that never got published despite repeated efforts and a few close calls.) I’ve been telling myself that, but I haven’t really been writing it.
My heart has been all over the place with what this book should be. Should it be a memoir? A spiritual guidebook? A leadership book? A creativity book? A collection of personal essays? And if it’s a memoir, should it just focus on one part of my life, or a more general “story of my journey” kind of book?
There’ve been lots of rough outlines drawn, a few false starts, lots of inspirational moments… and yet, somehow nothing really stuck. Try as I might, I just couldn’t find the illusive thread that would tie the pieces of my book together.
When I quit my job in the Fall, one of the things I knew I had to do was write a book. It’s just been a deep longing for so long that I know I have to do it, whether or not it ever hits anyone’s bookshelf but my own.
Over the holidays, I wrote a guest post for Magpie Girl (Rachelle Mee-Chapman) about “the place where worldcare and soulcare meet”. As I explored a very personal story of a time in my life when worldcare and soulcare collided and taught me a valuable lesson, a little voice told me “This is it. This is the thread for the book. Now start weaving.”
And so that is what I’ll do – start weaving. And one day I will share with you whatever tapestry emerges.
Now go on over there and read the post, and then cheer me on as I try to give birth to this new baby.
And then one day, when I’m on the bestseller list (ha!), you’ll be able to say “I was there at the beginning!”
Over the holidays, I have been making my way through Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books
More than simply the story of a circle of women reading Jane Austen and F. Scott Fitzgerald, it is the story of how the Revolution in Iran silenced the voices of women and anyone who dared to believe something other than what the Ayatollah Komeini believed. It is about how oppression can grow in a place where there once was freedom, how more than half of the population can be silenced by the use of force and bullying. Whether or not they are Muslim, women are forced to wear veils, and are subject to inspections which ensure that they aren’t wearing any make-up, showing any hair or too much skin, or even wearing brightly coloured socks.
As the regime becomes more powerful, some young women are imprisoned, banned from university, and even executed for baring too much skin. Other women are abused or raped because they dare to speak out. One woman – a former government Minister – is tied in a sack and thrown in the river.
The thought that comes to me as I read this is… what is so dangerous about women that for so many centuries, in so many countries, they have been forced into silence? What are those in power really afraid of when they oppress women by forcing them behind veils and out of positions of power?
It’s not just Muslim countries (though those are the most obvious because of the head coverings). I’ve seen it all over the world. Some places it’s obvious, and other places it’s more subtle. In North America, for example, women appear to have great freedom, and yet if they speak too loudly they are subject to ridicule and abuse. (And not just by men – women are often the first to call a strong woman a “bitch”.)
I ask again… WHAT is so dangerous about us?
In Muslim tradition, in my understanding, it’s mostly about sensuality – women are dangerous because their bare skin causes men to fall into temptation.
But is that all? I don’t think so.
I think there’s a deep and abiding fear (all over the world) that a combination of women’s wisdom, power, sensuality, and passion could dramatically change the course of the world.
I think the old guard – both men and women who are most comfortable with masculine wisdom – are terrified that if the women’s true voice were to be heard more loudly, the world they’re comfortable with would be transformed beyond recognition.
Change is frightening – for all of us. But I think it’s absolutely necessary. I think women need to stand up and say “Look around! See the poverty, the oppression, the human slavery, the damage we’re doing to our earth. This world NEEDS changing!”
And then we need to get our hands dirty and get to work. NOT by overthrowing those who’ve lead before, but by bringing our wisdom to their tables and working with them.
What I find especially beautiful about Reading Lolita in Tehran is the reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. Despite the way that the women are being oppressed and forced to hide their beauty and strength and read literature in secret, their spirits are not crushed. Their beauty and strength is not gone – it’s just waiting to be uncovered again.
I am reminded once again of the woman I met in Bangladesh (above photo). When I motioned to her that I was interested in taking her picture, she let me, but then motioned to me to wait – she wanted me to take another one. Removing her black head covering, she revealed a colourful one underneath. THIS was the version she wanted me to see. I can’t help but wonder what she might have revealed if we’d been in the privacy of her home.
What fire lies smouldering beneath those strong eyes?